


it's the season (love and understanding)

by comosum



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Eddie Kaspbrak, Adult Richie Tozier, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Christmas, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Fluff, Ice Skating, M/M, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Minor Enemies to Lovers, Mutual Pining, New York City, Nurse Eddie Kaspbrak, Rivalry, Texting, Yeah boy, dude writing texts is so fucking fun, eddie thinks richie is HOT, even though eddie wont admit it, i mean everything is minor i cant explore much in this small small wordcount, i mean off screen, if thats not clear, minor hurt/comfort, theyre like 25/26, totally just didnt give richie a job fdhfds, what else, youre all gonna have to hold me back before i write a group chat fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21936436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comosum/pseuds/comosum
Summary: Eddie thinks his neighbor has incited a Christmas decoration based rivalry.Richie thinks his neighbor is cute.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 22
Kudos: 219





	it's the season (love and understanding)

**Author's Note:**

> omg gang! long time no see! 
> 
> i wrote this in a rush and i Know that it's not perfect but u know what? who cares. i wanted to write a christmas fic and i wanted to write a reddie fic so here we are. it's short. it's sweet. the pacing is frankly something to be ashamed of but i hope u enjoy it anyway. 
> 
> also im british but i tried my best to americanise this as much as possible, let me know if i missed anything!
> 
> title from merry christmas everyone by shakin stevens (best xmas song of all time)
> 
> merry christmas eve! x

Eddie had absolutely had it with his neighbor. 

Living in New York, his apartment had been a godsend. It was a little larger than the run of the mill, barely bigger than a closet, one-bedroom typical for New York, and his complex shared a courtyard. The water was never too hot or too cold, his front door was barely three metres away from a subway station and on a good day, it only took about 20 minutes to commute to his job at the ER. 

Of course, it wasn’t _perfect,_ he’d had to get the locks changed twice within the first three months of moving in, and his landlord was a piece of shit, and the maintenance guy seemed to get something out of misunderstanding him four times before he _got it now, mistah, haw haw, still ain't used to the accents up here._

But _damn it,_ Eddie loved his piece of shit apartment so _fucking_ much. 

He figures that that’s why his bastard neighbor is pissing him off so much. 

  
  


* * *

The problem started on December 14th. Eddie had gotten in from a long shift. He was tired. He was ready to collapse onto his couch and pass out watching Real Housewives. He had forgotten he had invited Bev over for drinks after his shift. 

He and Bev had opened up a bottle of rosé and were kicked back on the L-shaped couch that he refused to tell anyone he had got from Goodwill. Every now and again he would wake up in cold sweats as he remembered that he had no idea what happened to it in its previous life. Who the fuck leaves a perfectly good _L-shaped couch_ at Goodwill? Sometimes Eddie likes to consider the entire Manhattan area as his own personal ninth circle of Hell. 

“I just don’t _get it,_ Bev!” Eddie complains, pouring himself another glass, “People just really seem to love wasting my time! Why the fuck would you come into the _ER, the E fucking R,_ about a stubbed toe! People are _dying!_ ”

“To be fair Eddie, there have been a lot of fucking Facebook articles saying that every time you stub your toe, it breaks. They’re probably just being extra cautious.”

“This is what I’m _saying!_ ” Eddie’s gesticulating takes on another level now. “The people coming in with these ridiculous problems are people who are _active on Facebook!_ I can’t deal with Facebook Moms on a day to day basis! I’m not paid enough!”

Bev pouts at this.

“Ben uses Facebook!”

“You know I love Ben very dearly Beverly but look me in the eyes and tell me that he hasn’t tried to cook you a meal that he found from a Tasty video on Facebook.”

“It was a good fucking meal.”

“Oh shit.” Eddie grins. “He actually did? I was just joking. He did?”

Eddie is still grinning when Bev gets up from the couch and goes to stand by the window. When it seems like she isn’t going to respond to his nagging, Eddie gets up to see what she’s looking at. Eddie may be running on 6 hours sleep and a Red Bull he had snuck in his break hour (a blissful snippet of peace and quiet that feels eons away) but by nature, he was like a puppy. He needed constant attention. 

“Look.” 

This particular window is the one that overlooks the courtyard that he shares with his neighbors. While it was definitely on his positives list, he still tried to avoid the window. There have been a few instances when he first moved in where he has made eye contact with his elderly neighbour Maureen while trying to execute a one man performance of Les Mis in his pyjamas. He wasn’t sure that his dignity could survive a repeat. 

Eddie looks.

“Oh my fuck.”

“What?” Bev turns to him. “Are you looking at the same thing as I am? Over there? The Christmas lights!” She grabs Eddie’s hand and points his index finger so it follows her line of sight. 

  
“Yes, I can see them, get _off._ ” He bats her hands away. “God, I can’t believe him. That little _shit!_ ”

Bev turns away from the window to level Eddie with the full force of a blank and unimpressed stare. 

“What the fuck is happening right now?”

“Nothing’s happening,” he replies distractedly. He busies himself, analysing the lights his neighbour has put up. Not only does he have regular lights, but he has lights that _change color._ There’s a squat Rudolph statue in front of the window, sitting smugly on the coffee table. The nose _lit up._ God, this was a disaster. 

“Something is clearly happening. What is it? Do you want to fuck your neighbour?”

“What?! No!”

“Do you just hate Christmas lights? _You have Christmas lights!_ Are you sure? Are you _sure_ you don’t want to fuck your neighbor?” 

“No! Well -”

“You do! _“No”_ you do want to fuck your neighbor? Are you fucking your neighbor Eddie?”

“Oh my _GOD_ , let me talk!”

“Alright! Jesus.”

Eddie clutches his wine glass tightly and stares at Bev, his mouth a thin line, until she mimes zipping hers shut and throwing away the key. 

“ _Thank you!_ Like pulling teeth sometimes, honestly…” Bev looks ready to explode at this so he raises his eyebrows aggressively until she settles down again. 

“Okay, you see, the problem is that my neighbor is trying to _upstage me. With Christmas Lights._ ”

“Please elaborate enough so that what you just said makes sense.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“ _Okay,_ Jesus. Last week I went out of my way to stop by that newsagents that’s selling Christmas decorations - you know, the one near the hospital that doesn’t ID kids if it looks like they’ve had a nicotine addiction since they were twelve?” 

Bev nods at this -- she had been one of the kids that hadn’t been carded back in the day. 

“Yeah, well, I got my Christmas lights from there last Tuesday, so I was really prepared and everything.”

Eddie had stood in the newsagents for a good twenty minutes trying to decide which color lights to go with. 

It was his first Christmas where he had had the foresight to book both Christmas Eve _and_ Christmas Day off work, so naturally, he had nominated his new apartment to host Ben and Bev. He wanted to make it special. He wanted to prove that just because he lived alone and hadn’t had a steady boyfriend in over a year, he wasn’t a sloppy bitch. And what could sloppy bitches never do? Organise a coherent color scheme. So what was Eddie one hundred percent set on doing? Organising a coherent color scheme. 

So, yes, maybe he took a long fucking time deciding whether to go for the Snow White or Festive Gold LEDs.

At least, that’s what the boxes read. He knew, in reality, they were going to be White So Intense They Blind Him Every Time He Turns Them On, or Gold That Is Really Yellow And Reminds Ben So Much Of Piss He Asks Eddie To Turn Them Off Mid Roast. 

Of course, Eddie is nothing if not a gracious host, so he went for the Snow White lights. He explains this all to Bev to her amusement as she settles into his story. 

“So, you choosing to blind yourself every time you want to get festive is relevant to you wanting to fuck your neighbor, how?”

  
Eddie closed his eyes. 

“Number one, I don’t want to fuck my neighbour. Number two, I’m getting there.”

“You don’t want to _not_ fuck your neighbour though.”

  
“Beverly.”

“Sorry. Continue.”

“Thank you. So I had bought the Christmas lights, but I didn’t have enough time to put them up until after my run the next day-”

“Okay, I really am not seeing how that detail is relevant at all.”

“It’s not, I just wanted to remind you that I’m more fit than you.”

“I genuinely cannot stand you.”

“So, I get in from my run, and I see that I need to put up my Christmas lights before my shift.”

“So this is what? Six am?”

“Something like that yeah. So I start putting my lights up in this zigzag arrangement,” he gestures loosely to the window where the lights are strung up across it in a slalom effect. 

Bev grins at him from behind her wine glass. 

“It’s very nice. Decorative.” 

“I thought so!” At this point, Eddie knows he’s being ridiculous from Bev’s lack of motivation to take the piss out of him so he just plays into the story he’s set up. Blame it on the rosé. He won’t admit that he’s resembling half the mothers that come into the ER, calling their kids ridiculous pet names like _snugglemuffin_ or _sweetiebear_. 

“Anyway, I look up, mid decorating, and there’s this _asshole, staring at me!_ ”

“Wait I need to picture this properly.” Bev scrunches up her eyes and points her fingers at Eddie. “You just came back from a run, and it’s the dead of winter in New York, so you’re wearing…”

“A zip-up hoodie and running shorts.”

“You wear _shorts in the winter? Why?!”_

“It encourages me to run because I need to warm up!”

“That is genuinely ridiculous Eddie, and the fact that you are a qualified nurse makes me worry for America.”

“Fuck you. Why is what I’m wearing relevant for the story anyway? You’re like a horny straight boy. You’re like Bill in high school.” Bev smacks him indignantly. “I need you to listen! This is the most important part of the story.”

“I’m listening. I’ve been listening to you the entire time, you bitch.”  
  


“Anyway,” Eddie ignores her, “the asshole stares at me, _judges_ me for my shorts, _winks_ at me, and then _fucking walks away._ ”

“Oh my god. Eddie you are so fucking stupid.”

“What? Don’t you get it? He winked at me and now a week later he has fucking outdone me with the lights! He incited a competition! He has made my own home a battleground.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Eddie is very glad that Bev then moves the conversation onto Greta Bowie, a Vogue columnist, and the two women’s latest feud. If she had asked Eddie what his neighbor had been wearing, under the guise of needing to experience the encounter as immersively as possible or some shit, his cover would have been blown. 

He may hate his bastard neighbor, but that doesn’t mean that his bastard neighbor doesn’t have broad shoulders and a ridiculous enough dress sense that makes him Eddie’s exact type. 

* * *

The next day, Eddie has to open his apartment door with his elbows and well-aimed kicks. 

It’s nearing eleven pm, and he’s bone tired as he always is after a trying shift. Despite all this, he is feeling triumphant. On his lunch break he had legged it out to the newsagents and practically bought out their entire Christmas stock. He reckons that the looks he got from one of the senior doctors as he was trying to stuff a mini Santa’s sleigh in his locker will be worth wiping the stupid smirk off his stupid neighbour’s face. 

Eddie doesn’t want to forget to put up the decorations, or risk another confrontation with his overly friendly, maybe terrible neighbor, so he decides to put them up now. He has a day off tomorrow, so he doesn’t think future Eddie will mind if he goes to bed a couple of minutes later. 

He makes quick work of it, dragging a chair from his kitchen table over to the window as a frame for his display. It’s haphazard, it’s half-assed, but he can't help the small smile that overtakes his face as he decorates. 

When he’s done, he steps back and considers the arrangement, tugging at lights here and there. It’s garish, and ugly as fuck, but there’s always been something secretive in Eddie that jumps at the chance to do the outlandish. 

He snaps a photo and texts it to Ben, before heading to bed. 

**To: Benjamin**

_23:09: rate my setup_

If he had turned around as he was making his way towards his bedroom, he would have seen his neighbor casting a number of more than thoughtful glances towards his back. 

* * *

He wakes to a series of texts from Ben, sent far too early for Eddie’s day off. 

  
  
  


**From: Benjamin**

_08:42: eddie what the fuck_

_08:42: im so sorry but that is genuinely hideous_

_08:43: ur going 2 give everyone in nyc a tension headache just from proximity to that thing_

As Eddie is reading them, his phone beeps at him. Another text lights up his screen.

_08:47: bev just told me this is bc you want ur neighbor’s dick. he better be hot bc thats the only thing that could make me feel better abt this_

**To: Benjamin**

_08:47: thats not how u get tension headaches_

_08:48: this is why im the medical professional and ur not_

_08:48: also i dont want my neighbor’s dick. this is neighbor-based only in the fact that he has incited a christmas based war_

**From: Benjamin**

_08:48: u literally just confirmed for me that u want ur neighbor’s dick w/ that text_

**To: Benjamin**

_08:48: ???_

**From: Benjamin**

_08:49: eddie u are literally a little kid that pulls pigtails when u think a guy is hot_

**To: Benjamin**

_08:50: …_

_08:53: shut the fuck up._

Eddie shoves his phone under his pillow and groans dramatically into the mattress before rolling out of bed ungracefully. He had been planning on letting himself sleep in, but he is the kind of person that has to get out of bed as soon as he’s awake or he’ll just feel like he’s wasting away inside his own body. 

Shooting a quick glance out of the window, he notices it’s snowing. He sighs. So much for his morning run. 

Tiredly rubbing the back of his hand over his face, he makes his way towards his living room and grabs his yoga mat as he goes.

He knows he’s bad at yoga, he knows he looks ridiculous when he stretches into downward dog or curls himself into a lotus or whatever, but his therapist had recommended it along with meditation about two years ago. It makes his brain blissfully quiet, and he has never looked back.

So he pushes himself into a few simple poses and listens to the traffic outside and the gentle hum that his apartment makes, as all buildings do. He’s half closing his eyes and almost feels like he’s somehow falling asleep while still in Warrior II, when catches a flicker of movement from the apartment across the courtyard. 

Curious, he opens his eyes and turns his head towards the window. To do this, he has to pull himself out of his pose. He cracks his neck and shakes out his limbs as he does so. What he sees when he moves closer to the window has him feeling like all the tension he just got out of his body is slowly making its way back into him, settling steady at the base of his spine.

Eddie can’t tell if his body thinks this is a good thing or a bad thing.

His neighbor is putting up more lights. 

He’s standing on a chair, and seems to be attaching another string of lights to the curtain rod, so they dangle down in front of the window. 

Eddie knows he shouldn’t be annoyed at this, he himself put up extra lights — three more strings, in fact. But something about this just makes his blood boil. It’s like his neighbor has seen that Eddie has upped the ante and decided to _actively retaliate._ Eddie does not know what to do. Eddie did not think it’d get this far. 

Eddie is also busy taking advantage of the fact that his neighbor is otherwise preoccupied with attaching the lights to notice Eddie watching him.

He may have told Ben and Bev that he doesn’t want to fuck his neighbor, but that can still stand in their group as a feasible truth as far as Eddie is concerned, because they don’t know what his neighbor looks like.

Eddie has always been fond of guys who dress a little mismatched or are a little dorky. He knows he’s type A through and through, so he’s usually a moth to the flame of easy going guys. Opposites attract after all. Unfortunately, they also often end up driving him up the wall, taking Eddie’s constant giving as a sign that they should be taking until Eddie’s too tired to provide anything else, but it’s always the initial rush of Something Different that pulls him in. 

So this is why his neighbor is a problem.

Where he’s standing on the chair, his unruly dark hair is just visible at the top of the window frame, curling under his ears. His thick rimmed glasses are falling down his nose every two seconds, and every so often he tips his head back to deter them, his hands too busy with decorations to push them up his nose. All he’s wearing is a worn looking t-shirt and boxers. The t-shirt says _TAKE ME TO PARIS!_ in an obnoxious font and has a picture of the leaning tower of Pisa on it. Eddie hates it. Eddie wants to bury his face in it. 

It also does not help that where his neighbor is stretching up to wrap the lights around the curtain rod, the stupid shirt has risen slightly. Eddie can just about make out a trail of hair leading down into his boxers. Everything is awful. 

It gets more awful very quickly. Eddie is so distracted that he just stands there, watching his neighbor, like a fish out of water. He is dimly aware that his mouth is slightly open, and in the back of his mind he can hear Bev and Ben shaking their heads at him. 

All too fast, his neighbor has finished the lights, and instead of taking the hand that suddenly starts absently scratching at stomach as a sign that his neighbor has a free hand, as in, he is _finished,_ Eddie remains stock still, tracking the movement.

He is still following the hand as his neighbor raises it until it’s level with his face, and sends Eddie a little wave. He is biting his lip, seemingly clamping down an amused grin at Eddie’s _terrible misfortune_. 

Eddie promptly turns red, and, seeing no other option for the situation, turns abruptly and heads back to bed.

He wonders madly if he should move out immediately and sleep on Ben and Bev’s futon forever. 

* * *

Eddie does love his job, he _does,_ but when the year drags into the holiday season, the exodus of kids coming out of school seems to make a direct journey into accident city, landing them in the ER. 

That is to say, Eddie loves his job, but he loves it more when he still has time to take a break to down espresso in the staff room. 

Today is no different. They had been given a heads up by a senior doctor in the morning that most schools had broken up the previous day. Eddie is already dreaming of his bath, his bed, and a few Netflix specials by noon. 

He has just treated an eleven year old who had broken her arm sledging directly into the Central Park Lake, and he’s leaning back into his chair, shifting about in an attempt to release some of the tension that had been building up from leaning down to the height of a few dozen grade-schoolers. 

Ben pokes his head around the door. 

“Eddie, you’ve got a Mr Richard Tozier, 26, coming in, he’s hurt his ankle. Looks like it might be a break.”

Eddie sits up in his chair and gestures with his hand. 

“Alright, send him in.”

A few seconds later, Eddie is straightening his back even further in an attempt to look at least a tiny bit more professional. 

Limping in, with a few poorly disguised winces, is his ‘ _nemesis,’_ as he had described him in a text to Bev the other day. His neighbor. His Christmas rival.

“Okay, Mr Tozier,” he says, grabbing his clipboard from the desk and avoiding eye contact. “What seems to be the problem?”

He risks a glance over the top of his notes when his neighbor — _Richard_ — fails to respond.

“Mr Tozier?”

“Um,” Richard seems to shake himself slightly. “I slipped on the ice and now my ankle is sort of. Not online anymore.”

Eddie hums and scribbles this into the form in front of him, wryly correcting ‘not online’ to the correct medical terminology. 

“Was this on a path or a rink?”

“A rink. My friend Stan is really good so he was bugging me to come with him but he sort of got overly enthusiastic and sped past me.”

And then, “I think his talent knocked me down.”

Eddie quirks a brow. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Richard shifts. “He’s, uh, he’s a talented guy.”

“Right,” Eddie straightens, and stands, moving over towards where Richard is sitting gingerly on the sickbed. “I’m going to ask you to move your ankle in a number of directions, and you’re going to tell me if it hurts, and how much.”

“Okay, doc,” Richard chirps.

“Just a nurse,” Eddie replies absently. 

_You can do this,_ Eddie tells himself, motioning for Richard to turn his ankle this way and that, gritting his teeth. _This is your job, and you can help this man with his injury even if he wears stupid t-shirts and singlehandedly attempts to ruin your Christmas decorations._

Somewhere around the sixth rotation of his ankle, Richard speaks up again.

“So,” he starts, causing Eddie to look up at him. “Do you do this with all your neighbors, or just the ones you stare at across the courtyard?”

A tight ball of heat erupts somewhere below his ribcage at being recognised. Eddie knows that he was being watched back, but there is something about the confirmation that makes him both want to bolt and stay in the room with Richard for the rest of his life. Eddie clamps it down.

“Do I invite all my neighbors over to instruct them how to move their ankles?” Eddie deadpans. “No.”

Richard hums thoughtfully.

“Do you stare at our other neighbors, though?”

“Do you incite Christmas decoration wars with our other neighbors?” Eddie retaliates, a little too defensive. And then, murmured, “Point your toes to eleven o’clock now. How's that?”

“Yeah that’s not great,” Richard hisses. “What do you mean, Christmas wars?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, picking up his clipboard, and writing down the break he suspects Richard has. “I think we’re good here. You can go down the hall and hand Nurse Hanscom this. They’ll get you plastered up.”

“Christmas wars?” Richard repeats, taking the slip Eddie hands him.

“You kept putting more lights up when I put mine up!” Eddie pauses, unsure. “Wait, Mr Tozier, why _did_ you keep adding more lights?”

“Don’t call me Mr Tozier,” Richard grimaces. 

Eddie glances out into the doorway, trying to discreetly gauge how many patients he can squeeze in before his next break. 

“Alright, Richard. You do really need to be on your way -” 

“Flirting,” Richard interrupts. “I thought we were flirting.” He looks distinctly embarrassed now, like a kid caught out of bed on a school night. “And it’s _Richie,_ not Richard.”

“Okay, Richie,” Richard -- _Richie, --_ is looking down at his injured ankle, now, clearly looking for a distraction, so Eddie takes the moment to catalogue his curled hair, the strong line of his jaw, the oversized jacket, the deep-seated attraction Eddie has for him and Richie’s obliviousness. 

Eddie makes a decision.

“I don’t stare at all my neighbors, for the record,” he glances at the clock above the doorway. “You do really need to get going, but just so you know,” he steels himself. “I have a shorter shift today, I finish at seven. And… you know where I live.”

Richie’s head darts up, a small grin creeping onto his face. It makes Eddie think of a wave passed between homes. 

“I know where you live,” he repeats, dazed. And then, curious, “You liked my t-shirt.”

“I hated your t-shirt,” Eddie retorts, refusing to blush but still feeling his face heat regardless. “Now _go_.”

Richie rises, and starts to hobble out. When he reaches the doorway he turns, and assess Eddie one last time. Eddie shifts, uneasy under his gaze.

Richie grins again, winks, and disappears into the corridor. 

Eddie, remembering that his plan was to fit some more patients in before his break, decides instead to duck into the staff room to text Bev. Desperate times. 

**To: Beverly <3**

_13:21: bev absolute nightmare occurred_

_13:21: had to treat evil neighbor_

_13:22: he broke his ankle_

**From: Beverly <3**

_13:23: how is that a nightmare?? ur nemesis is down a limb_

_13:23: unless u embarrassed urself_

_13:23: lol did u embarrass urself_

**To: Beverly <3**

_13:24: u know how i said i didnt want to fuck him,_

**From: Beverly <3**

_13:25: omg_

**To: Beverly <3 **

_13:26: i may have invited him round mine after i finish work._

**From: Beverly <3**

_13:26: opposite of a nightmare!! eddie!!!!_

**To: Beverly <3**

_13:27: i'm fraternizing with the enemy!!!_

**From: Beverly <3**

_13:27: u are so fucking dramatic_

_13:28: have fun! ;)_

* * *

With Richie on his mind, Eddie finds the shift doesn't drag as much. It feels like he barely has time to blink before he's back in his apartment. 

He’s just pouring himself a cup of herbal tea when the door goes. He looks at the mug, and then the door, and then the mug. He sighs. He leaves his mug on the countertop.

Before opening the door he has a brief moment of panic. What if it’s all a misunderstanding? What if Richie comes in and immediately destroys his Christmas decorations? It could happen. Anything could. 

He opens the door. 

“Hey,” says Richie. 

He is wearing the same outfit from the hospital -- a hardy looking flannel over a t-shirt, paired with some jeans. Eddie can’t make out what’s on the shirt -- his flannel is wrapped around his body, likely to keep out the cold, but he finds himself wanting to read the dumb phrase that is surely printed there. 

“Hey,” Eddie parrots. He turns so that there is a gap for Richie to walk through. “Come in, I was just making tea, do you want some?”

Richie has to duck slightly to get through the doorway, Eddie notices. Eddie is noticing a lot of things. 

“Tea?” Richie’s mouth quirks. “It’s like, the evening.”

“Yeah, and?” Eddie crosses his arms. “Do you want some or not?”

Richie raises his arms above his head sheepishly.

“Sure,” Eddie watches how he peers through the hallway to the Christmas display Eddie had set up, eyes growing fond. “Could I also, uh, get your name?”

Eddie stops where he’s standing on his tiptoes to grab another mug. 

“Sorry, what?”

“I just mean,” Richie rubs at the back of his neck. “Nurse Kaspbrak sounds nice and all, but I don’t think you’d want me to call you that, uh, out of hours.”

Eddie stares at Richie. 

“Did I forget to tell you my name?”

Richie ambles over to Eddie and stretches around him to grab the mug he was struggling to reach. Richie really was tall. 

“Yeah, dude,” he presses the mug into Eddie’s hand. “It’s cool, though.”

Eddie’s hand tightens around the mug and he leans to press the kettle on again for something to do with his hands. 

“It’s Eddie,” he says, and turns to face Richie, leaning his elbows back on the counter. Richie is already there, hands braced either side of Eddie on the countertop, looking down at him. Eddie resists the urge to swallow, looking up to meet Richie’s eyes.

“Hey, Eddie,” Richie says.

“Hey,” Eddie resolutely keeps eye contact. 

Richie flicks his eyes across Eddie’s face, darts his eyes to the window display again, and then returns to Eddie. He wets his lips briefly. 

“Did you really not like my shirt?” He asks, startling a laugh out of Eddie. 

“Well,” Eddie pauses and attempts to formulate his feelings about Richie’s shirt. “It was _something,_ that’s for sure.”

“Something to stare at?” Richie smirks.

“Maybe.”

Richie hums in interest. 

“Might be the same kind of _something_ as those shorts you were wearing the other day.”

Eddie finds himself leaning a little closer to Richie, just as he moves closer to Eddie.

“Yeah?” Eddie breathes. 

“You have…” Richie smiles slightly. “You have nice legs.”

“Thank you,” Eddie chuckles, feeling his eyes crinkle.

“Just to clarify, earlier, when you said you thought we were having a Christmas war. You meant a flirty Christmas war, right?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and reaches to the back of Richie’s neck and tugs him down into a brief kiss. He lingers in it for longer than intended when he feels Richie’s hands wrap around his waist. Richie starts smiling a little into his lips, so Eddie pulls back.

“What?” He asks, breathless, flicking his eyes between Richie’s and his mouth.

“Just relieved. Stan said you probably hated me because of the lights thing, and then when I came in you offered me tea. Lots of mixed signals here, buddy.”

“Don’t call me buddy.”

“I called you dude earlier.”

“Correction,” Eddie says, leaning forward again. “Don’t call me buddy when we’re making out.”

“Oh, is that what we’re doing?” Richie is so close and speaks so softly that Eddie feels more than hears him. 

Richie leans forward and catches Eddie in another kiss, this one deeper, more certain. Eddie barely registers their surroundings until the kettle ticks off, and pulls back, keeping his hand in Richie’s hair, playing with it absently.

“Wait, wait,” he says, catching his breath. Richie has lifted him up onto the countertop, so he’s slightly taller than Richie. He looks down, suddenly noticing Richie’s boot -- what he must have got from the hospital to keep his ankle steady.

Richie is leaning back, features softly concerned, but still pushing his head back into Eddie’s hand, chasing the sensation. 

“Sorry, do you want to stop?” 

“No!” Eddie barks, not in the right mind to be embarrassed about how eager he is. And then, softer, “I don’t think we should, um, do too much. You know, with your ankle and all.” He nods down to the boot. 

Richie follows his eyes as he speaks, and laughs softly.

“Probably a good idea,” he says, looking back up at Eddie.

“We could just watch a film?” Eddie suggests. “Best to keep your weight off it.”

“Sure thing, Eds,” Richie grins, ducking in to kiss Eddie’s cheek, before hobbling off into the direction of the L-shaped couch. Ah, Eddie’s L-shaped couch. An attractive man on Eddie’s L-shaped couch. Maybe Manhattan was kinder than he thought. 

“Don’t call me Eds,” he says absently, pouring Richie’s tea.

“Why not?” Richie asks from the couch. “It’s your name isn’t it?”

“No! My name is _Eddie._ I don’t like Eds,” he wrinkles his nose.

“Do you not like it in the same way that you don’t like my t-shirts?” Richie teases. 

“I’ve only seen one of your t-shirts, I don’t think I can make a judgement on that," he says, placing their mugs down on the coffee table.

Naturally, Richie tugs his flannel off to reveal his t-shirt. It says _EXPLORE MY BODY_ above a picture of a horse's head. 

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie groans, putting his head in his hands. 

Richie laughs, eyes crinkling up.

Eddie peeks out between his fingers to watch. He leans into Richie's side. Richie leans back. 

Eddie presses a smile into his shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> follow and yell at me on [tumblr](https://luckycharmr.tumblr.com/)
> 
> big up the tenderness discord server for not slaughtering me every time i sent an excerpt of this.
> 
> also!! anyone notice how i gave richie a broken ankle as an excuse not to write smut? i don't think i have it in me, you guys.
> 
> kudos and comments are much appreciated <3
> 
> thank u for reading x


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